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For sunshine's succeeded by rain;

Then, fearful of life's stormy weather, Lest pleasure should only bring pain,

Let us all be unhappy together,

I grant, the best blessing we know,

Is a friend for true friendship’s a treasure; And yet, lest your friend prove a foe,

Oh! taste not the dangerous pleasure: Thus friendship's a flimsy affair,

Thus riches and health are a bubble; Thus there's nothing delightful but care,

Nor any thing pleasing but trouble.

If a mortal would point out that life,

Which, on earth, would be nearest to heaven, Let him, thanking his stars, choose a wife,

To whom truth and honour are given : But honour and truth are so rare,

And horns, when they're cutting, sò tingle, That, with all my respect for the fair,

I'd advise him to sigh and live single,

It appears, from these premises, plain,

That wisdom is nothing but fully, That pleasure's a term that means pain,

And that joy is your true melancholy: That all those who laugh ought to cry,

That 'tis fine frisk and fun to be grieving, And that since we must all of us die,

Ile should tastc no enjoyment while living.

I SIGH

T SIGH and lament me in vain; 1 These walls can but echo my moan, Alas! it increases my pain

When I think on the days that are gone.
Through the grates of my prison I see

The birds, as they wanton in air ;
My heart, how it pants to be free!

My looks they are wild with despair.
Above, though oppress'd by my fate,

I burn with contempt for my foes;
Though Fortune has alter'd my state,

She ne'er can subdue me to those !
False woman! in ages to come,

Thy malice detested shall be;
And when we are cold in the tomb,

Some heart will feel sorrow for me.
Ye roofs! where cold damps and dismay

With silence and solitude dwell,
How comfortless passes the day!

How sad tolls the evening bell !
The ow's from the battlements cry:

Hollow winds seem to murinur around, “ O Mary! prepare thee to die :"

My blood, it runs cold at the sound,

O N Afric's wide plains, where the lions, loud

roaring, With freedom stalk forth, the desert exploring, I was dragg'd from my hut, and enchain'd as a slave, In a dark floating dungeon, upon the salt wave.

Spare Spare a halfpenny! spare a halfpenny! .. THE moon had climb'd the highest hill, 11 Which rises o'er the source of Dee, And, from the eastern summit shed

O spare a halfpenny to a poor Negro. Toss'd on the wide main, I, all wildly despairing, Burst my chains, rush'd on deck, with my eye-bals

wide glaring, When the lightning's dread blast struck the inlets

of day, And its glorious bright beams shut for ever away. The despoiler of man then his prospect thus losing Of gain, by iny sale-not a blind bargain choosing, As my value, compar'd with my keeping, was light, Had me dash'd overboard in the dead of the night. And but fora bark,to Britannia's coast bound then, All my cares, by that plunge in the deep, had been

drown'd then; But, by moonlight descry'd, I was snatch'd from

the wave, And reluctantly robb’d of a watery grave. How disastrous my fate ! freedom's ground though

I tread now, Torn from home, wife, and children, and wand'ring

for bread now, While seas roll between us, which ne'er can be

cross'd, And hope's distant glimm'rings in darkness are lost. But of minds foul and fair, when the judge and

the pond'rer, Shall restore light and rest to the blind and the

wand'rer, The European's deep die may out-rival the sloe, And the soul of an Ethiop prove white as the snow.

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A SHEPHERD wander'd, we are told,
A Fal lal la, la ral, la ral, la ra,
To seek the straggler of the fold,

Fal lal la, la ral, la ral, la ra;
And passing o'er a fragrant glade,

Descry'd a young and blooining maid, And thus to her his vows he paid,

Fal lal la, la ral, la ral, la ra.

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Her silver light on tow'r and tree; When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea; Then soft and low a voice was heard

Say, “ Mary, weep no more for me.” She from her pillow gently rais'd

Her head, to ask who there might be, And saw young Sandy shiv’ring stand,

With pallid cheek and hollow eye. “O Mary dear, cold is my clay,

It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee I sleep in death,

So, Mary, weep no more for one,
“ Three stormy nights and stormy days,

We toss'd upon the raging nain;
And long we strove our bark to save,-

But all our striving was in vain.
E'en then, when horror chillid my blood,

My heart was fill'd with love of thee :
The storm is past, and I at rest,

So, Mary, weep no more for me. “ ( maiden dear, thyself prepare ;

We soon shall meet upon that shore, Where love is free froni doubt and care,

And thou and I shall part no more.Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled;

No more of Sandy could she see; But soft the passing spirit said, “ Sweet Mary, weep no more for me."

DID

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